


Eyes of Mine

by demonicserenade



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: I wrote this to cope, Unbeta'd, but oh wee oh wow they're gonna pull it out somehow aren't they, campaign 2 episode 123 spoilers, dreamscape, dude that episode fucked me up, i have no idea how the nonagon works, i wrote this in two hours after staying up till 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29140680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonicserenade/pseuds/demonicserenade
Summary: Essek has a dangerous idea to stop the nonagon. Caleb thinks it just might work.Tl;dr: How I think Caleb could become the nonagon in time for a deus machina because Keen Mind really do be like that. Complete with a dream sequence, a pissed off Beauregard and some Caleb/Molly if you squint. Set post episode 123 with spoilers for up to that point.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Eyes of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I just binged 500 hours of television in three months and I caught up fully to campaign 2 this week. I'm new to the fandom and I couldn't get this scenario out of my head.

Caleb was tired. He was tired down to his bones and he was at the end of his rope. He gazed with apprehension at the Kryn settlement, east of the ruins. This was their best option, he knew. That didn’t negate the fact that this was a massive gamble.

They were greeted at the gates by arcane ballista aimed for their noses. Even after Fjord’s silver tongue and their shiny symbols had cleared the air, Caleb could only feel his unease gather with every step he took.

He stayed silent as they were led to Essek’s chamber. He noted the dark elf’s disheveled appearance and haunted look. He ached a little when that look trained on him. Caleb tried his best not to let it show. It took all he had not to interrupt Jester as she told Essek everything they knew. Beauregard spoke up throughout — especially regarding the power they’d witnessed not just a night before. He only hoped that her skepticism and warnings would be heeded. He never wanted to face that again. Especially not from Essek. Not someone familiar to him. Not someone he knew.

Caleb’s curse was that he knew he would remember everything.

And he remembered that face. The twisted, red-eyed face of his long-lost, forever-gone friend as it contorted itself into bloodlust and anger. He remembered his declaration in battle, “The wizard is mine,” on a loop. He remembered the feel of Molly’s lips against his forehead and the feel of Lucien’s anti-magic field gripping his soul.

He remembered red eyes.

He knew that even if they won here, it was unlikely they would ever go away. He had seen them, so they were a part of him him now.

Just like every book he’d ever read and pain he’d ever wrought.

_Light them up pretty._

Essek asked him to stay behind for a moment after they’d determined it would be best to go to the ruins first thing in the morning. Beauregard wouldn’t leave the two of them alone, which was a strange sort of comfort. After this long, he’d learned to appreciate her skepticism.

“Would you be willing to become a weapon? If you had the opportunity to?” Essek’s question wasn’t presumptuous or accusatory.

“I’ve been one before.”

Essek’s eyes searched him further, “My magic alone won’t be enough to defeat him. Even if I sent the entire garrison, risking everything I’ve worked for, I can only do so much.” He paused and whet his lips. “I think you could do more.”

Caleb’s shoulders slumped. Even as Beau took his defense and accused Essek of cowardice, Caleb’s eyes were unyielding as they were pathetic. “What more can I do?”

“You can sleep. And you can let them in.”

“Oh you gotta be fucking — ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

“Caleb, you have...a wonderful brain. With someone of your age and experience, the fact that you are where you are is a marvel. If you could somehow...change your dream to your standards with your terms — then, maybe, you can convince the somnovem you would be a better nonagon.”

“Those dreams are...” Caleb huffed a laugh, “impossible. To control and understand, it seems. Even for me. Especially for me. I am not as special as you might believe.”

“Yeah. And he’s NOT going to become the nonagon?! Dude! We can’t have Caleb trying to kill us too, that’d just make it worse! This situation is just getting —“

“We have to explore every option, Beauregard.” Essek gave them both a pacifying look as he sat back in his desk. His hands cradled his chin. “And I think I have more faith in Caleb than either of you do right now. I don’t know if it’ll work or make things worse but every option is worth exploring right now. The stakes are too high to not explore every option.”

Beauregard and Essek bantered for a while longer.

But, eventually, even that ended.

And Caleb created the mansion. And, with time, he excused himself to the eighth floor. He saw Beau’s eyes on him, following him, but he didn’t have the energy to fight her today. He locked the passage behind him. He didn’t open any doors. He didn’t delve into any memories. He did, however, lay down on the floor at the center of a nine-sided chamber with nine doors.

Every option, huh?

The only thing he had to lose was himself.

It might be nice to get lost. If only for a little while.

He put a black pearl to his temple and focused on geometric patterns. On luck. On destiny. On every option.

And then he closed his eyes and waited for the eyes.

His dream began with Mollymauk. His coat of many colors, billowing in the wind. His secretive smiles. His way of making you feel like you were the only person that mattered for a moment or two. The way his pupil-less eyes widened expressively in mock shock and awe at the slightest provocation.

The way he spit back blood at Lorenzo as he died.

Caleb was standing over Molly’s corpse. Caleb was closing his eyes. Caleb was fingering a purple curl and marveling at how soft it felt. How real his memories felt. How fresh his wounds still were.

And then those eyes opened again. And all the red between his tattoos flashed. Caleb watched as Molly disintegrated. His skin became red and his dust circled around Caleb in intricate patterns.

Caleb watched in mild disinterest as he too began to dissolve. He saw his dust turn red and indistinguishable from Molly’s, but he didn’t fight it. This was how it was meant to be, after all. This was how it had to be.

Darkness billowed in tendrils around him in patterns he didn’t understand. He tried to pay attention, to separate them, to let them in, but they were hard to discern, let alone grip.

He felt himself slowly descending into a dreamscape where he had no control. The voices began. They wished him good evening, asked questions about Aeor and the world above. He felt as though he was moving through molasses. The questions were rhetorical and amorphous. Asked so he knew there were questions. Asked to exhibit a mutual curiosity.

Fjord hated riddles like this. So did Yasha, but she practically salivated at Beau when she solved riddles. Was Beau having the same dream, he wondered? Better her than Veth or Jester or, hell, even Caduceus. The Empire Kids should take it. They wouldn’t hesitate to do what needed to be done.

He closed his eyes and watched as nine eyes appeared behind his eyelids. They kept melding and changing, but they were easier to distinguish this way. Easier to separate. To isolate the components and research them thoroughly, to understand what they meant.

He visualized the grand expanse of dunamancy’s void around him. He tried to communicate the cruelty of the cosmos. A frustration of certainty. A life unmoored by loss of control and self. A desire to move beyond, unshackled, unimpeded.

And as he did so, he listened for responses. He discerned the subtle differences between the voices. Between their reactions to his ambitions, his flaws, his destiny, he could discern individual thoughts. They tried to sway him and advise amorphously.

And then he put his fingers out, and grasped them between his fingers. Nine strands separated between his fingers. Bound tightly in his hands.

With every fiber of strength in his being, he pulled.

And he felt the resistance. He felt them tearing him apart. He felt them rummaging through his mind to distract him. He felt them reopening the boxes of his madness and loneliness and the overwhelming guilt of no longer doing exactly what he was told. And he screamed against them as they overpowered him. He felt himself succumbing to their power.

And then he reached for possibility. He felt destiny rip across his flesh like lightning and he pulled one last time.

And it worked. The eyes were separate. They were of nine, but they were in boxes and behind doors now. And the separate entities that made them up were easier to understand.

He stood, shaking in the nothingness of the chamber around him, and he walked to the first door.

The first door opened to his childhood. There was an unfamiliar looking woman there, sipping tea. She looked at him with red eyes. “You are certainly an intriguing specimen, Caleb Widogast.”

“I aim to please.”

For what felt like days, he spoke to each member of the somnovem individually. He learned their names. He played their riddles. He told them about the truest parts of himself. He shaved himself down to a live wire and watched them pour water on him until he crackled.

But for once he didn’t falter. He didn’t let their attempts to break free bypass the gates of his mind. He kept them in their place. He remembered exactly where each person belonged, and no matter how they tried to confound him, he kept them in their corners until he finished speaking with each of them in turn.

Then he brought himself and the doors back to his memories of dunamancy and thanked them for their time.

He snapped his fingers and welcomed the chaos that swirled around him again like an old friend. Thoughts that tried to overwhelm him were chastised. Thoughts that tried to break him were broken. He knew how to manipulate now.

He knew who they were.

And a part of him understood Lucien more. Knowing powerful beings like this was intoxicating. He could only imagine how he kept track of it all. How it must have swirled in his mind, toying him with madness. He could only imagine what it was like to be with them for two years. How many lifetimes his fractured soul had experienced with these essences that sought to destroy and manipulate him.

He breathed deeply. He snapped his fingers again. And he was awake.

Taking stock of his body, the first thing he noticed was his sweat. Fuck, he was positively sweltering. He began to remove his jacket and saw, to his amazement, an eye on the back of his hand.

He flipped his hand over. There was one there too. He let his fingertips brush over the mauled surface of his scarred flesh and felt the cold impressions of tiny, red eyes, nine of them, impressed in his skin.

With hesitation. He called the name of one of the somnovem in his mind. And he watched as the eye on his palm glowed hypnotically in response.

He gulped and he felt himself shaking in terror as he kept staring at his own hand for he didn’t know how long.

And then he heard the sound of Beauregard cussing from the floor below, accompanied by her repeatedly slamming her fists and feet against the entrance he was sitting on.

He realized then that things were about to get way too interesting for his safety.

He gulped and backed away from the center entrance.

“Auf.”


End file.
